Its one thing for me to get flirty-flirty with boys on apps while my vagina plays catch and release with all the fun ones, its another thing entirely when someone who’s known me for years tells me they want to fuck me. Suddenly I’m nervous, bashful, shy even? Fuck you, I’m Wonder Woman! Please don’t notice me blushing or avoiding eye contact, it will only embarrass me more. It becomes glaringly apparent I’ve been missing their cues and body language the entirety of knowing them. “How did you not know…” uh, I’m autistic? How about you use grown-up words and just out with it! I’m not great with subtlety. On apps it’s just assumed; if a man is contacting me, he wants in my bitch-wrinkle. So here I am, minding my own business on social media, and someone I’ve known for 7+ years says flirty things following some comment I made. Reasonable, rational me says “it’s funny because he’s not into you, don’t look too deeply into it,” but succubus me is screaming from the back row “message him your address and don’t let your dreams be dreams!” I did not pursue it. Even though I’m down 46 lbs, I just assumed since he’s known me so long and attraction has never been apparent… I’m not his type. He’s… uh… attractive. Gigantic, kinda scary looking, ink and scars. He’s my head of security if I ever get famous. Back up though, because how we met is great.
Picture it: Sicily, 1922… or, The Kodiak bar downtown Anchorage, Alaska when it was the dirtiest, sluttiest, most sexually ambiguous bar in town. So, home. I’m drunk, SHOCKER, and outside on the smoking patio. There’s this mountain of a man swaying with his back turned to me, obviously pissing in the corner. I practically skipped over to him, maybe it was more of a Mario bounding jump, reached down (by down I mean directly in front of me, because he’s easily over a foot taller so his dick is pretty much right there,) and held his flaccid penis for him as he drunkenly pissed publicly. I even shook it for him. He laughed, thanked me, gave me his business card after he tucked himself away. I don’t actually think we exchanged names, but maybe. I might’ve told him my name. What can I say, I make a memorable first impression. Years later, we’d work next door from each other and I’d have dirty, dirty thoughts about him pretty much every day. He’d come buy smokes and I’d try to hide my raging erection, which manifests as redness in my face and mumbling instead of talking. Oh, is that marbles in my mouth? I’ll just go eat my feelings about all that, because I’m a hungry, hungry, hungry hippo. (True story, feelings are delicious- especially mine!) Our employers were separated by a shared bathroom and I often had fantasies of him opening the door with my back to it and just trapdoor spider pulling me away from the counter into darkness to ravish me. That’s the most romantically dramatic word I could come up with for “fuck me until I’m passably retarded.” I’m a lady, sir! Or at least that’s what I tell guys on Tinder that is what’s listed on my birth certificate. Shhhh…. I’m just a new age Decepticon. I need to stop joking about being trans. It was fun at first, but I guess I’m less convincing as a cis woman than I’d previously thought. The beard doesn’t help. I’M A HANDSOME WOMAN. Moving on.
So he messages me directly after a few days (weeks?) of surface grade flirting on various posts. I am suspicious… could it be… no, nope, no way. Shadup, vagina- your optimism is obnoxious like Mary Poppins. Something something something, I asked him outright if he was hitting on me because I just needed the clarity before I embarrassed myself completely. No really, I had a 35 year old man verbatim tell me “yes, I am hitting on you,” because I’m THAT daft. Remember Clark Kent? It’s that. I’m just convinced my perception of flirting in real life is misreading casual flirting/ being polite. Like, are you sure you’re hitting on me right now because you actually know how much of a dumpster fire I am on a personal level. He goes on to tell me he’d like to bury his face in my hobbit hole for an undetermined amount of time until I am thoroughly, thoroughly prepared for the dicking down he’s determined to give me. What. I don’t know what to do with my hands right now. Must be because of my progress with my body, right? Apparently, no. He’s had the itch to scratch inside me since we worked by each other… but considering my more recent appetites are satiated with younger men in the Air Force, he didn’t think I’d be interested. Full stop. I’M MY OWN WORST COCKBLOCK. I was also informed he found my sudden awkwardness adorable. No, fuck you, I’m a strong independent woman who don’t need no man! Oh sweet Jesus if I hadn’t been such a chicken shit I could have totally had him trapdoor spider snatch me away into the shop he worked at and fucked me all over the place. You miss 100% of the shots you don’t take, kids. Remember that. He couldn’t hear it, but at the moment he tells me we could’ve been banging this whole time I began slamming my head onto my desk at work. For the rest of the day. How have I survived this long in the world, clearly I’m not meant to. I could drown in the shower. #Oblivious
Once I’ve completed my internal monologue bashing myself for being an idiot, we continue with the pleasantries for a couple weeks. By pleasantries I mean sending each other nudes and masturbation videos, talking dirty, sharing fantasies, and teasing each other at inappropriate times. He gets me at work. I just want to sit on his face and pull his hair while I cum in his mouth, is that too much to ask? No, no it is not. He’s all about it, bout it. Our personal lives/ work schedules somewhat conflict, so making the time to see each other has been… a struggle. Mostly me struggling to keep up the charge on the batteries in my vibrator because my insatiable sex drive is through the roof already. I don’t need you or your big dick, I can handle this myself! I’m kidding, bring that big dick over so I can sit on your lap and tell you what I want for my birthday. It’s to have my dead father back, you fucking creeps. Jesus. I don’t know how to segue from that joke. This?
Fast-forward to today. We missed the window of opportunity to see each other yesterday while I had the whole day off from work- and I shaved! I should have known it would happen that way, shaving in preparation for a hookup seems to be its death knell. I send him a video of me using Pusseidon. Suddenly he’s taking a cab to my house right meow. Oh, joy! I’m already in a pretty great mood; weighed myself and I’m ahead of schedule for the month on my weight-loss journey. Happy dance in my cheeky panties and nothing else, I’m celebrating my body with glee. I answered the door just like that. He’s so, so, so much bigger than I remember. Nearly 6’4″ (I’m 5’1″) and he’s got over 100lbs on me. I feel dainty … now destroy my vagina, Mountain. I flop back onto my bed and he’s on me in an instant. Mouths meeting hungrily while his enormous banana fingers find their way into my pink canoe (new favorite term,) I already know I’m gonna cum hard. I don’t particularly think I have an exceptionally small vagina, I think it’s probably average… his 2 fingers are bigger than some dicks I’ve had. He’s hitting my gspot just right and I’m reflexively wrapping around his arm like a koala bear. Holy shit everything about him makes me feel itty bitty, like the sluttiest member of the Lollipop Guild. I think he gives me two orgasms with his hand before pulling me to the edge of the bed and burying his face in my envelope factory. That was the end of me ever playing hard to get in the future. His head, by the way, is so big it was pretty much like he parked a Buick on my clit. I mean that in the best way possible. I can wrap my legs and body around it… that’s sexy, right? I’m pulling his hair and cumming in his mouth, he’s penetrating me with his dick fingers. I can’t recall clearly if at this moment is when his digits decided to go spelunking in my perfect asshole but that happened somewhere in the wrassle.
He needs a break, I’m clearly having all the fun. Perfect opportunity to show him my magic hands and mouth in return… he was not prepared. There’s no greater selfless joy than hearing unintelligibly mumbled swear words while I’m using my mouth on a man. I mean, like obviously volunteering and helping people is high up there too but that doesn’t get me wet. Anymore. My hair is up in top ponytail called Pineappling and it’s not fashionable, it’s a protective style for curls while sleeping. I was in bed touching myself all morning, and I very much looked like it. Am I sexy or am I pretending to be a unicorn… you decide. Anyway, he’s holding my hair while I’m working him with enthusiasm. Later he’ll tell me watching was nearly as good as experiencing my skill level, because I “suck dick like a porn star.” I’ve mentioned this before… I learned how to suck dick from a porn star, and you can too! In fact, Nina Hartley has instructional videos on lots of sex stuff. You’re welcome. Adding to that, apparently it was hot to watch providing his eyes weren’t rolling so far back he saw the ghost of blowjobs past in his memories. He may or may not have been having some issues getting all the way hard and staying there. Part of me wanted to tap it like a mic and shout IS THIS THING ON but I understand most men are waaaaay too self conscious about that to find it funny. We transition into full penetration on our side with me rubbing my downstairs piercing and I am thrilled- he kind of pounced me from behind while I was reaching for more lube. Oh yes, trapdoor spider me! TAKE ME!
He climbs on top of me and pushes my legs up. I’m folded in half and our size difference is most apparent right now. I can fit in his pocket. As he’s pounding into me he tells me how great my pussy feels. SAY IT LOUDER FOR THOSE IN THE BACK. What, I like a vocal partner. I’m louder than mother’s obvious racism when she clutches her purse tightly. I probably tried to spit out coherent words, I sincerely hope he wasn’t watching my face contort while my orgasms had me stroking out. He climaxes, and I watch in his face as it approaches and arrives. Good lord I love the male O face, usually. Even if it’s funny. I like watching them lose control for that moment. Makes me tingly just thinking about it. He rolls to his back next to me, our limbs still entwined. I have the perma-grin of post-orgasmic bliss. I am the Cheshire cat, and we’re all a little mad here. Floating. Content. Satisfied thoroughly. He nonchalantly says “…congrats on your weight-loss,” and I lose it. I feel my face turn red as I pull a pillow over it to ugly laugh. CLEARLY he saw my post earlier celebrating my progress. Don’t look at me you big dummy! For the rest of the day, that moment will play on repeat and give me the giggles. I apparently do not qualify as a fat girl anymore, fine, whatever, fuck-pumpkin it is. We exchange mutual affirmations that we enjoyed the sexy time, and he lets slip he’s happy he did a good job because, and I’m paraphrasing here, “I’ve known you many years, I don’t ever want to get on your bad side.” See, I’m tiny but mighty! My phone begins to blow up so I answer it. I should not. Work was calling me in early, I am upset. He gives me more face and dickin’ before we tear apart from each other so I can get dressed for work, poorly. I’m going to drive him home on my way. I am stuck on stupid, though. I’m not good in a hurry after really good sex! I’m clumsy, forgetful, twitterpated, easily distracted, and I will walk in circles trying to get myself collected quickly. Also, I shouldn’t drive in this state of being as I’m already working with deficiencies. He told me I drive like a maniac. That’s your fault and you should feel ashamed of yourself, sir. I stop to fuel my car and he robs the place or something, I dunno- as I was getting out to pump the gas he said my giggle was cute, so now my face is hot again and I’m trying to just hide behind my car and look busy. Upon his return to the car I am informed his face smells like my pussy. GOD DAMN IT STOP BLUSHING. My skin is so very pale, it’s comically apparent. I do not have a poker face. Laughing, he calls me out for being shy. Make it stop, I’m at the front of the class reading an essay. I’m not blushing, its rosacea!
I enjoyed being told I’m “wicked smaht” and we agree we should definitely smash genitals again soon. Very soon. How soon is soon? I’m horny again right now. I was still horny when I dropped him off and sucked his face. DON’T LEAVE ME HANGIN’. He has a very special place in his house I need to explore… turns out he’s good with his hands in other way, and built some equipment in the S&M variety. I’m not into subbing, at all, so that’s not a thing for me- but I want to take his dick all over all of it. Hang me from the fucking ceiling in a swing. I’ll make your neighbors haaaaaaaate you, the acoustics in that room are apparently amphitheater quality. He asked to be called Adonis and I don’t like it, even though the implication would be that I’m Aphrodite. Fuck you, Narcissus! I do find you stupid-hot, though.
If you’d like to read more of my stories I keep a bunch of them on my blog, AllTheDicks. The direct link for this story, complete with its attached hyperlinks, is below. Thank you for reading!
This story was originally published here
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